Together In the End
by coffee-stained lips
Summary: All that mattered was that they were together in the end, like he expected them never to be. Oneshot.


**A Quartie from moi again! Ah, these two are too cute to pass up. I like the writing in this but I think it doesn't have as much substance as it could have—like it only scratches the surface of their relationship. What do you think? I hope you like it anyway. Also, for those who witnessed the Britney Spears episode, who just _loved_ how Artie sang "Stronger" and when he put Tina behind a big LOSER sign? I'm sure there were a few. And I did love Heather (Brittany) in it too. She's amazing. She and Dianna (Quinn) both need solos in more episodes.**

The sight of their two smooth hands intertwined made Artie's stomach churn. They were both perfectly Asian and perfectly compatible together. Tina's dark eyes didn't even rove to him when he passed; they stayed intact with Mike's black irises, a smile creeping onto her shy mouth. It used to be him that made such a smile stretch across her features, her usually timid eyes light up excitedly. But no, now Mike did that.

If only his compulsive Halo-playing habits hadn't eaten away at his free summertime—if only Tina and Mike hadn't gone to a special Fine Arts Asian camp—if only he didn't find Jon Voight's acting skills beyond any human's. Now those "if only's" were dust in the wind. The past had been written and now Artie needed to suck it up, grab a pen, and start jotting down a better future—he'd just have to write Tina out of the script.

Following the failed attempt of a performance at lunch, the members went to eat. Tina invited Artie to sit with them but he declined, knowing how hard it'd be to—not to mention Mike wouldn't be happy. He wheeled himself to another table on his own, removing the bologna sandwich from its plastic wrapping in his paper bag. He observed his surroundings: Puck and Finn went to one table, Rachel tagging along to Puck's chagrin; Mercedes and Kurt swapped gossip at the table next to them; the Cheerios deposited themselves a bit farther away from their Glee partners, but close enough to signal they were, in fact, of that clique; and Tina and Mike, their hands together and eyes casting dreamy looks that nauseated Artie more than the stench of his sandwich.

He took a hearty bite, his tongue burning at the undercooked sensation of lunchmeat. It wasn't the most pleasant way to kick off a year of school, chewing bologna and having his back to his ex kissing up her new boy. His mind was so riddled with angry thoughts that he didn't notice a girl sit across from him. He continued choking down his food and keeping his soul-baring blue eyes on the scratched metal table.

"Hey, Artie." Her voice alerted him he was not alone at his eating spot. He lifted his head to meet Quinn's eyes, in all their hazel glory. He could feel his throat constrict; it was eminent every teen boy at McKinley had had, at some time and with some amount of intensity, a crush on the blonde-haired beauty. Her attitude turned Artie off in the beginning, but those long lashes and that close-fitting uniform still managed to catch his attention sometimes. Even when he was with Tina (who he thought was perfect), his brow developed beads of sweat at the sight of Quinn. But he made sure the attraction grew to nothing more—their paths were not destined to cross.

Even so, she now sat by him, blonde hair cascading over the custom-made T-shirt Rachel got her dads to buy. Artie contemplated what he would do with his—burn it in a fire, cut it with scissors, boil it on the stove, et cetera. On her gray tray sat a salad, festooned with purple onions and red tomatoes, and a bottle of water. She always ate light, having to follow Coach Sylvester's strict weight rules, and it had just become force of habit to have organic leafy greens for lunchtime. Artie was sure his oily bologna disgusted her.

"Oh…hi." he replied, a shade of red on his cheeks. Quinn's gaze fell to her tray, and she put a forkful of lettuce in her mouth. Artie decided she was done talking with him, so he ate too. Quinn sitting across from him—a girl, really, not just Quinn—made him self-conscious, whereas previously he would have sullenly eaten alone, not caring who saw or what they said of his manners. But now he sat up straight in his wheelchair and chewed quietly and with mouth closed.

"So…" Lack of conversation created awkwardness in Artie. Even though Quinn's presence caused his throat to get dry, talking would help him get over it—or embarrass him terribly. Whichever. "Why'd you…um—"

"Santana still refuses to be seen with me." Quinn interjected snappishly, stabbing her salad, "I had the baby last year but I'm still in Glee Club, so she'd prefer to stay as much in the popular clique as possible. Brittany just hangs on because she doesn't know better." Artie nodded, understanding the banished feeling. He had been ignored for his disability and personality, but it never ceased to hurt.

"Sorry." Artie said. Quinn shrugged.

"It's okay," she said, her tone kinder, "It was expected. I just wish I had something to live for. I mean, I'm not pregnant anymore and I'm off the Cheerios. There's nothing for me to look forward too. Sucks." Violently, she took a swig of water and slammed the cap back on once she was done. Artie watched her, head tilted, and wondered about Quinn Fabray. He wanted to give her some comfort but what could _he_ do? She wasn't his friend—she was barely an acquaintance. And she didn't look like she wanted to make the effort to connect with Wheels Abrams.

"Whenever I feel like that, I set an impossible goal." Artie offered, shrugging, "That way, I'm always striving towards it, so I always feel like there's something to look forward to." Quinn held his stare, her face frozen, considering. Then, a miraculous thing happened: she smiled.

"Sure," she said, "I guess. Thanks, Artie." Smile still there, she stood with her tray and pecked his cheek. A blush popped against his skin as she walked away to the trash can. He felt great having comforted Quinn but even greater at getting a kiss, or lack thereof. Just lips-to-cheek, but it left his face tingly.

Artie's positive attitude lifted Quinn's spirits for awhile. His idea wasn't half bad, but it wasn't good enough for her. She'd always been one of those people who, when she set a goal, obsessively went for it, gave it her all, until it was within her grasp. She did take his advice, though her thirst for succeeding was stronger than that for it to be lasting. Artie on her mind, she walked down the hall to class. It was a bubbly poster on the bulletin board that caught her eye and made her feet stop moving. It read: Cheerios Tryouts. NO FATTIES. Quinn had lost much of her baby weight over the summer (even before August started) so she had a great chance. This was what Artie had said; pick an unfeasible goal and go for it. This was her destiny.

Quinn wasn't sure how the tryout would go over. There were many more eligible cheerleader wannabes sitting in plastic chairs outside the gym. Even _Finn_ was there, a mystery within itself. But when she faced Sue Sylvester, a spark ignited, and she was confident in her abilities. Using her old motives, she evilly created a success. She had regained her standing as Head Cheerio and the nickname "Q" by Coach Sylvester. She was unstoppable.

After the catfight between her and Santana, she grumpily trudged to Calculus. The feeling of the wind blowing on the back of her neck and the way her red skirt swung back and forth was magical to have back. The crunch of rusted wheels turning echoed behind her, and she turned to face the reason she now was back where she should've never left from.

His eyes bulged at the sight of her in her cheerleading outfit. He never expected to see her face on the body of a Cheerio again. Her beautiful blonde locks were done up in a traditional ponytail; her hair didn't deserve that cruel punishment.

"Artie, thank God for you!" Quinn exclaimed, grinning hugely, "I took your advice, and now I'm back on the cheerleading squad! I wouldn't have done it if it wasn't for you! You made me brave." _I did that?_ thought Artie. This left him guilt-ridden and angered. He didn't want Quinn as a cheerleader again; just as they had some sort of relation, she got back in the popular posse. Regardless of Glee, would she ever speak to him as an equal when she was way up high and he was way down low? Would her lips ever again make contact with his cheek? This made his skin burn fiercely.

"O-Oh," Artie stuttered, "th-that's…awesome?" Quinn didn't notice how he phrased this as a question. She waved him off, flying to class, leaving Artie befuddled and upset in the hallway alone.

The rest of the day Artie drove his wheelchair in a depressed manner around the school. Those who cared believed he still felt sour about the hookup of Tina and Mike, but he could barely remember their names now. Thinking thoughts of Quinn took over his consciousness; several times he'd crashed into a wall, much to the amusement of jocks, when his ponderings got too deep. Afterwards, at Glee Club, Mr. Schuester had to snap him out of his trance as he laid eyes on Quinn's skimpy uniform that displeased him nowadays.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Schue." Artie apologized, shaking his head, "I-I've just been a little off—" Mr. Schuester waved him away, an embarrassed smirk on his face.

"It's quite alright." he said, "I, um,"—his eyes went to Tina—"get it." _You don't,_ Artie thought. He kept his mouth quiet, willing to morosely stare at Quinn in silence.

All during Glee he watched as Quinn went back to her old ways: she suddenly attained an aura of superiority, her eyes bearing down on Rachel as she spoke and gazing flirtatiously at Finn. It was like last year when she hung on to Finn and delivered malice to any threat of her so-called happiness with him. It gave Artie a disgruntling sense of déjà vu.

He wasn't sure what compelled him to do it, but he wheeled himself out to McKinley's football field after school. The team was practicing, pathetically checking out the Cheerios as the pigskin whizzed past and hit some in the head. Artie stayed perched near the bleachers, where he had a perfect angle to watch the girls. Quinn accompanied the other cheerleaders; her form was spectacular and she agilely climbed to the top of the pyramid, pumping a fist in the air for emphasis. Seeing her so gracefully atop a triangle of girls in the school colors invoked a zealous yearning in his heart—he wanted nothing more than to roll up to her and have her fall into his lap.

Perhaps his crush on Quinn wasn't so minimal anymore.

Was it so bad that he was attracted to her? She now was Head Cheerio again, implementing her status as Queen Bee; Artie remained a lowly peasant, shunned by those important and attacked by the servants to the delight of the kings and queens. But she spent many great moments in Glee with "losers" such as him…could she forget it all for the wish to return to her old ranking? Maybe liking him would just make him more popular rather than making her less so. He could hope.

From atop her perch, Quinn saw him. For the second time because of her he blushed—he was beginning to look like a sunburned tomato. Her mouth dropped open very slightly and her eyes remained locked on his. Pitifully, he waved. Before she could do a thing, Coach Sylvester blew her whistle and yelled out to Quinn for getting distracted. The woman then looked to where Quinn had, and she scowled at Artie but said nothing. As the pyramid dissipated, Quinn took no more glances at Artie. But he had a feeling she would've waved.

It shocked Quinn how much a little gesture could affect her. Artie felt odd enough having stared, but Quinn was a volcanic mess in her thoughts. She didn't want to sound narcissistic, but she'd witnessed many boys gazing longingly at her as she performed triple-flips and graceful lunges. It was fact that males enjoyed cheerleaders' presence, especially the captain's. Even though he was still a guy, Artie staring at her was unfathomable. He was an inch close to murdering Mike Chang in his sleep for dating Tina, and he suddenly turned his attention to her? She was flattered but there was a gnawing at her side about it—it wasn't just that she was proud she snagged his interest but something else…something real that she could barely comprehend.

At lunch the day afterwards, the Cheerios welcomed her back with open arms (most likely because it would be clever to get on the good side of Coach Sylvester's captain), although Santana stayed distant in her cold world of hatred and resentment. It was not Santana who bothered Quinn—she wouldn't come around if Quinn was the only person able to save her life. It was the aura of the setting. Here she sat, one speck in a sky of red and white again. It felt nice to be allowed to belong with the biggest people in McKinley, but it no longer held the same delight for her as when she was appreciated at the table of Glee Clubbers. Or as appreciated as she could be when the drama that suffocated the club came mostly at her hand. It was like having real-life friends; not readymade ones to accompany her at her beck and call.

And Artie. She missed him most.

But how, though, was her question. Before and after her first round of cheerleading she barely blinked at eye in his direction. The most intimate they'd ever been was when "fate"—as Mr. Schue dubbed it—drew them together for their ballad project, which hadn't gone so well since Quinn was fresh off getting kicked out of her house. Mostly she was cruel to him, making waspish comments, and when she wasn't she was crying. Artie took it all, though, and offered a shoulder to cry on when her emotions switched.

However, eating lunch with him after the failed "Empire State of Mind" routine and seeing him looking at her during practice had ignited a connection to him, as if both were friends from birth, destined never to separate. But in the harsh reality of high school, he was not her equal—he was her lesser, and she was supposed to acknowledge him as such. Looking closely, she knew being in Glee kept her solidified in the realm of the dorks; him, being one helped them to stay the same, but they were still worlds apart.

"…so then I switched to a fully vegan diet after Coach said I looked a little hippy, and all of a sudden he was on me like white on rice! And…Quinn, are you even _listening_?" Quinn, possessed by the daydreams of what once was, snapped her focus back on one of the Cheerios—she couldn't remember which one she was, and frankly didn't care.

"Yeah, yeah, white on rice, I got it," Quinn assured her touchily, subduing the girl's own testy query. She dug into her salad, as did Quinn, and gradually went back to discussing how someone made out with somebody's boyfriend at some other kid's party. All she could think of was how nice it'd be to go over and sit with her fellow losers.

Across the way, Artie's mind thought the same. Even as Kurt pestered him about the grease factor his burger held, he blocked out the annoyingness to sulkily imagine Quinn's presence beside him. Tina was a distant thought in his head now; everything that invaded his thinking was daydreams of Quinn. They started as just sitting with her, but soon spiraled into crazy, impossible things: a dance, a kiss. Things not just any boy could do with Quinn Fabray. He had to be special. Artie Abrams wasn't that special.

"Yo, Artie." Mercedes said, nudging him, "What up?" Artie untangled his inconceivable reveries from around his brain and looked to the girl, her hand against Kurt's face to shut him up long enough to ask a question.

"Huh?" he responded.

"You seem out of it," she said, "Everything alright?" He couldn't very well tell her the truth, could he? That he was musing the loveliness of Quinn sitting in his lap, arms wrapped fondly around his neck? The idea flipped his stomach upside down.

"Yeah, I'm fine." he said, avoiding her eyes; eyes were the window to his soul, proclaiming what was true while his mouth spoke words knotted with lies. Mercedes noticed the aversion but went back to eating, and Kurt went back to discussing how his organic sandwich enhanced his perfect complexion, blah blah blah.

The next week, after the members of Glee went to their respective afterschool activities, Artie stayed behind in the choir room. The comfy feeling of cradling a guitar in his hands and strumming a tune always purified him of all things bad. He hated the cheesy saying that if something goes wrong, just sing about it—contemporary musicals like that left him feeling sickened. Of course, he never did care for Broadway, but it was fact that _Les Misérables_ was classier than _High School Musical_. Regardless of that corny phrase, it did hold a sliver of truth; music made Artie feel good.

He was blanketed by a favorite Deep Purple number of his at the time. Simultaneously, sneakers squeaked on the tiled floor outside the room. He didn't notice due to his back to the door and the song infesting his ears, but when his song was over, he wheeled around to come face-to-face with Quinn. She was in her customary pose; hand adjusted on hip, opposing hip cocked, face held staunchly in a scowl without a real reason to be disgusted, and ponytail bobbing like it contained a spring. Though her stance threatened others, it purely nauseated Artie, for her allure was too great to seem hostile, though that was the effect she went for.

"Hmm," she said, lips pursed in haughty languor, "That was pretty good." Overcome by surprise and embarrassment, Artie could only stutter out a thank you that could've been perceived as anything else. Quinn nodded, her strip of hair bouncing as she did so. Her eyebrow was raised in that I-dare-you-to-cross-me way, but, as Artie held her gaze, she forced herself to look away. Instead of feeling proud—like he may've if it were a tough football player failing to stare him down—Artie made a mental note of this. Apparently Queen Quinn was not as confident as she made herself seem. Whether it was the return to power following Beth or an age-old dilemma, Artie could only guess. But he was sure his guess wasn't wrong.

"I…I left my notebook." Quinn said, holding up her chin as though this was an announcement of extreme importance. "I need…I need to get it."

"I think it's underneath the fourth chair from the bottom row," Artie offered, but Quinn ignored his attempt at help and walked by him, taking no heed of his presence. This wasn't as much a blow to Artie's self-confidence as it might've been a year ago. He was an expert at reading the emotions of others. After getting to know Quinn through Glee, he realized this was not a representation of rank she was showing—more so, it was an inner fear of falling through society's cracks and a denial of the connection she felt with him and those who had been deemed, a year ago, below her. Since she no longer felt that way, she was determined to go back to it due to being a Cheerio again.

As he watched her bend to pick up the green-hued notebook, Artie found himself speaking. "You don't need to do this." He saw her halt in her action. The words tasted weird in his mouth, like a foreign food may taste to an American dedicated to French fries. An eternity passed by slowly, until Quinn got her notebook in hand and turned to face him. The scowl had dropped and her hands stayed off her hips. Now she looked like the Glee Quinn and not the Cheerio Quinn—the Glee Quinn was the one he liked.

He rolled over to her, abandoning his feelings of shock. "I understand how you're one of those people who needs to be top dog to feel good, but I know how you really are. You're just troubled inside, and need an outlet. But your outlet is being the best thing ever, and knowing everyone else doesn't compare. If you, maybe, had real friends to count on, you wouldn't need to be popular and cool. You'd be…happy." Her eyes met his and this time she couldn't turn away. A beam went from his eyes to hers, and a spark ran up that beam. The two were connected by an invisible force that neither could identify, but both could feel. Artie—acting on impulse, again—took one hand off his wheel and stretched out to hers, which was now trembling at her side. She moved it, however, so that her fingers slid through the cracks between his. His glove was rubbery, a distasteful feeling, but right then it was exceedingly reassuring.

"I-I know," she whispered, "I know I have a problem…with power. It's a teenage thing, Artie, you know that—being popular means being accepted. I just want to feel like I'm liked and that people want to be around me." Artie nodded his understanding; there were times when he prayed that he could defy the boundaries of his chair and become big man on campus. But the feeling was fleeting; it was better to blend into the background as yourself than to build yourself up arrogantly, the steps you walked up behind you crumbling until you would tumble into the real world, where your popularity status means nothing.

"If you stopped trying to please those people," Artie said, "and pleased yourself, you can have people who really _do_ like you, and not whatever else there is." Quinn smiled at him—he was right. Imagine, the resident wheelchair boy being positive. He had every reason under the sun to be bitter about life and yet he was not. In fact, he was ready to give help to someone with a less than happy perspective and set them straight.

"Yeah…" she said, "Artie…thanks. For, you know…being a good friend." _Friend_. The word rang in his ears like a brass bell. She was his friend. _He_ was _her_ friend. It was a special feeling, one that makes your nerves tingle with excitement beyond another kind. It seemed like an honor to be a friend of Quinn Fabray. He wanted her to feel privileged at being a friend of Artie Abrams, but he wasn't of such a high standard to be liked like that.

He blushed. "It-It's c-cool." he stammered. Quinn flashed him a melancholy smile twisted with little happiness, and leaned down so her lips touched his head. A recollection of these lips at his cheek sprung to Artie's mind, and it took all he had not to choke on his beating heart. Pulling back, Quinn traced her fingers along the argyle pattern on his back, and then left with no more words. Artie's entire body quivered with exhilaration. Quinn was not only his friend now, but she had distantly kissed him—twice.

It was then he determined he had feelings for Quinn.

Quinn too could feel something foreign in her heart whenever she saw Artie from then on. The first kiss she gave him had been her way of saying goodbye—not in a romantic way, but just a reflex. However, the second was different. She had _wanted_ to; it wasn't just her brain acting on autopilot. She wanted her lips to graze Artie's skin. Though she had simply kissed his head (of which sat a mess of fixed hair she couldn't stop looking at), it was the same sensation. If he felt something at the touch, he hadn't let on, save a slight pink hue crawling unto his nose. It was hard to get out of her head that feeling of bliss that overcame her once his gaze met with hers, and how it strengthened when he grinned. Was she meant to feel this way? Was she meant to be attracted to Artie? No, because_ how_ could she like him?

Unfortunately, in the swarm of teenaged persons surrounding her, there was bound to be one person who noticed Quinn's change towards him. At another lunch, Quinn was contemplating whether to skip off to the cheerleading table, or to sit with Kurt, Mercedes, and—be still her beating heart—Artie. Whatever choice she made could alter the course of her life, perhaps the whole history of McKinley. It was when she felt one foot edge near the latter table that a hand clamped onto her shoulder, startling her. The hand was masculine, so it was a boy, or maybe Rachel, since she _did_ have the nickname "Man-Hands". But it was revealed not be Rachel when Puck swept in front of her, his hand releasing its grasp.

"What're you starin' at Wheels for?" he asked. Quinn was already cold towards Puck that beginning year, wanting to wash her hands clean of the scandal. But Puck had taken an interest in her, trying to chat her up in hopes of earning her trust. He failed, though, as she whipped her ponytail in his face and walked away. Now that he'd pretty much ascertained her secret desire for Artie, she hated him even more, but there was another thing there she disliked—fear. She feared Puck.

"I don't understand what you mean," she said, refusing to make eye contact. Puck rolled his dark eyes, and Quinn wanted to punch the spot between them.

"You're staring over at his table." Puck declared, "Unless you're making those goo-goo eyes at Hummel. You do know he's gay, right?"

"I _know_!" Quinn yelled with unnecessary loudness. After the stares from their classmates left them, she whispered "I'm not staring at either of them, or even at their table. I was just thinking about who I should sit next to—Brittany or…uh, Becky. And I've decided Brittany, so goodbye, Puckerman." With that lie said, she turned on her heel to deposit herself beside the dimwitted Cheerio, who was sitting next to Becky, so the lie became more obvious. Regardless of her lie being realized, she could only feel the drop in her morale as she gawked at the back of Artie's head.

Despite her choice of lunch comrades, Artie still was friendly with her, having conversations with her between periods and telling jokes during Glee. Even if they were corny she laughed. When he got up to sing a solo for the club, she couldn't take her eyes off him, although her other members found part-time—and even full-time distractions—from the performance, like Rachel's gaga stares at Finn and Santana sharpening her nails with a file. Not even Tina—Artie's closest friend (though the ex-girlfriend part had to be factored in)—paid attention, instead fiddling with a thread of black hanging off her skirt. Artie took note of the intensity of his Glee-mates' concentration, and was happily surprised to discover Quinn was the most entertained. He inwardly decided this song was now a dedication to her, and he rolled up to her for emphasis. Some of the kids noticed and watched more intently, but it remained mainly Artie and Quinn, locked in each other's eyes.

Over the course of the year, Quinn began to succumb to her wish to sit at the table that housed the geekiest of McKinley's current students. She would alternate between Cheerios and Artie (and Mercedes and Kurt too, she guessed, since they came with the package) over each week, earning skeptics from both sides of the realm. Some of her cheerleader "friends" gave her the cold shoulder, but others, confused at her unusual lunch seating, simply quieted and ate beside her when she picked their table. Inside her, she always felt more comfortable with Artie's table. The foursome would discuss Glee, outside music, TV, movies, and fashion (but not often, for Artie got lost on that discussion). Mostly Mercedes and Kurt would stray to just each other, but Quinn didn't mind, because they weren't her priority to talk to. She and Artie chitchatted fervently of the same topics and more, always laughing and grinning together.

Artie loved the time spent with her more than she could comprehend. It helped their friendship grow stronger until she was inviting him to the Lima Freeze—a cordial hangout for hungry teens—after school for ice cream. He wondered if all these meetings could be considered dates; Quinn never directly asked him out nor did he her, but he knew she felt _some_thing and he was positive he did. He wanted these things they did together to be linked to a sort of romantic factor; he didn't know how to approach her on this, though. Sometimes he thought he didn't even have to; Quinn would always be comfortable in his presence, and she had even ridden with him in his chair on occasion. Tina never once did this, which made Artie mull over how that could've been a sign to the end of their relationship.

Ultimately, Artie decided it was best to express to Quinn his feelings. One day, as they were e-mailing each other (because, as friends, sharing e-mail addresses, phone numbers, etc. was important), the idea popped into his head as they went from discussing how much of a shot McKinley's football team at the upcoming game had (answer: little) to his desires for joining said team.

_I know you said you wanted Tina back before, but she's not into football. Why'd you wanna do it?_

Artie felt humiliated as he honestly typed a reply:

_I wanted abs. Mike has 'em._

He was mortified after hitting send. What would she say? It came back not a minute later:

_LOL :) Don't worry, you're cute enough without abs._

Back on Quinn's line, she too regretted her response, but Artie didn't award her any grief:

_;) Someone likes me! LOL, well, I'm kinda over Tina. It's been a few months, and she's definitely not dumping "Other Asian"…I guess I stay because it's nice to be on a team since I'm in a, y'know, wheelchair._

_OK. Just don't get all Puck-ish. I saw you staring at Brittany during our pyramid._

It wasn't Brittany who he was staring at. He replied telling her this and, stupidly, who he had been staring at:

_Me?_ was the only word she typed back.

_Yeah. I…sorta like you._

Minutes passed like hours. Still no response came from Quinn. Artie began to worry he had made the mistake of his life. How dumb could a kid with a 4.0 in almost all his classes be? He wasn't the best in romantic relationships (apparently _Coming Home_ is not a date movie) and this e-mail exchange only encouraged that. After an hour of refreshing his page to check his Inbox, he shut down his laptop and went to bed, no sleep entering his body.

He didn't expect Quinn to rush up to him the next day and fling her arms around his neck. He didn't expect her to fix herself comfortably in his lap. He didn't expect her to kiss him—and not on the cheek.

As her lips moved off his, and the entire student body gaped appalled and flabbergasted, Quinn gave a smile with her pure, pink mouth. She pressed that mouth against his ear and whispered "I sorta like you, too." Such a sight was it to see the head cheerleader and the cripple kissing openly in the hallway that no one even confronted them. Some went back to their daily duties, too stunned to do anything else, while others kept staring as though they were frozen mannequins. Santana, arms folded, stood nearby a few of the hockey players that would torment the Glee kids as Artie drove him and Quinn to their first period. In their way, Artie held eye contact with his foes.

"Please move," he asked, politely and affably. Still so staggered by these two, they did as he asked, no snarky comments attached. It was seemingly perfect to be regarded as a human being and not shark bait in the ocean of McKinley and also to have Quinn—gorgeous, as always, in her Cheerio uniform—so close her hair fell over his shoulders. Even as he passed Tina and Mike showing "public displays of affection" in the hallway, he didn't glare or sigh or depressingly ram into a wall to clear his head; he simply said hello, though they were too busy with one another to acknowledge him or Quinn. But did it matter anymore, now that he'd finally admitted his newfound liking for Quinn? No, it really didn't. All that mattered was that they were together in the end, like he expected them never to be.

**I think this is better than my _Can I Be Your Wonderwall?_ oneshot by a lot, but is it still good? Please tell me your thoughts. And I love hearing people say they thought it was sweet or cute, but could you all elaborate and tell me what you really liked and what I could've done better? It feels so much better to get reviews that're praising yet insightful.**


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